Dance (of Desire) with my Enemy
by AnneM.Oliver
Summary: His desire to ruin his enemy started with a dance. (Written for The Maple Bookshelf's 'It's all Been Done Passionately' Challenge)
1. Chapter 1

This is just a very short preview chapter. This WILL be a short story, but the rest of it won't be as short as this chapter, I promise.

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**A Dance (of Desire) with my Enemy  
By  
AnneM**

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Desire was a curious thing. To desire something meant that a person yearned for something or someone, craved a certain something… needed… wanted… something or someone with a want so severe that not to have 'it' caused the person physical and mental pain.

Draco Malfoy knew 'desire'. He felt desire in many ways. He desired to be rich. He desired to be famous. He desired to be popular. He desired many, many things. One might even say that he desired the person he was looking at across the room, but then again, desire often was wrapped up tightly with other emotions such as jealousy and envy.

As he pondered these thoughts he continued to watch a man from across the crowded ballroom and he became so angry that he clutched his hands into tight fists at his sides. The stupid fool looked so happy dancing with the woman that Draco should be marrying. It wasn't fair, but then again, so few things in life were fair.

Was it fair that Harry Potter was practically crowned the hero of their world while Draco's family was vilified? Was it fair that this man, nothing but a common half-blood, had more money and fame than Draco ever dreamed of having? Was it fair that the woman to whom Draco had been betrothed to since infancy had decided that since the end of the war she was throwing old traditions to the wind, and in doing so, she set her cap on the Saviour of their world, and now THEY were dancing at THEIR betrothal ball, while Draco was left in the corner licking his proverbial wounds?

No. None of it was fair.

Draco had wealth, undeniable good looks and pureblood, yet he longed to trade places with a bastard like Harry Potter.

He hated Harry Potter. He always had and always would. True, he was glad that the stupid prat had vanquished the dark lord – that much was evident – but he would never show the bastard gratitude or thanks. He would never be grateful to the dim-witted git.

And it wasn't only Astoria Greengrass (aka Draco's former fiancée) who seemed enamored with_ 'the boy who lived whom Draco wished would die_'. Even the man's best friend, the bane of Draco's existence, Hermione 'the mudblood' Granger had to look upon the man with love and devotion in her big brown eyes.

While Astoria went off to dance the next dance with the vermin Ron Weasley, Harry Potter took Hermione Granger's hand in his and pulled her out to the floor for the quadrille.

When Hermione Granger first entered the ballroom Draco noticed her right away. He always did. It seemed as if the air in a room changed the moment she entered it. It grew heavier, fraught with something Draco was hard pressed to name. She was the sort of woman whom everyone noticed, not just Draco. For one thing she was curvaceous in all the right places. Lovely full breasts, gently sloped hips, tiny waist. And when she smiled it was as if she was relaying a secret of some sort – a secret full of sensuous intensity. His body thrummed tightly watching her smile that secret smile at the man he hated the most.

And suddenly he thought: I want that.

He wanted her to smile at him the way she was smiling at Potter. He wanted her to throw back her head and laugh at the things he said. He wanted to hold her in his arms, feel her lush body next to his, and never let go.

The thought almost knocked Draco over instantly. He desired her. He wanted her badly. Here he thought he desired everything Harry Potter had, but in reality he desired so very much more. He desired her… his enemy.

For she was his enemy, just as surely as Potter was, merely because she was someone important to Potter. She was his best friend, so by association she was Draco's enemy. As that thought bounced around his brain he began to smile. Wouldn't it be sweet to best Potter? Wouldn't it be brilliant to have something that Potter would never have? Wouldn't it be the biggest coupe to make his enemy's best friend fall in love with him – and then throw her over?

He would make her fall in love with him. He would make her desire him, want him, need him, and then when the moment was right he would toss her to the curb along with all the other rubbish and debris.

Draco could only image how angry and upset Potter would be then! The smile would slip right off the bastard's face. Revenge would be so sweet. It would be better than desire. With revenge, Draco could finally win.

And so it began.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part II**

She turned again, and then walked down the aisle of other dancers, weaving in and out, the dance an intricate design, the dancer a contrast of everything Draco loved and hated. She had lovely dark hair, held up by what appeared to be a string of pearls. Several long curls framed her face, falling gently on her neck and shoulders. Her dress was a dark emerald, and her body looked lush and delightful swathed in the dark green silk.

Draco made his way down the outside of dancers, then stole his way into the line farther down from the woman and her partner. Soon, it would be his turn to take her hand, guide her into a twirl, move beside her. Instead of her smiling at Potter… batting her eyes at Potter… she would be forced to give all her attention to Draco. What began as a vague thought of 'I want that' became a loud declaration deep in his soul of 'I WANT HER'. He decided not to heed the warning bells clanging in his heart. He waited. The dance was designed so that each couple would dance a pattern through the crowd of other dancers, then they would switch partners. It wouldn't be long before it was his turn to take her hand, walk beside her, gaze into her eyes.

Potter would be incensed when he discovered that Draco was dancing with his best friend. Draco could hardly contain his smile. Then finally, it was time to take her hand in his.

The first touch of her hand in his sent a jolt straight to his groin. He gazed into her eyes, gave her a lazy smile, even as her smile slipped from her face, being replaced with a frown. Even though they each wore gloves, it was as if they held hands skin-on-skin. Her eyes grew wide as her frown deepened.

He had never once noticed her eyes. They were a deep brown, with flecks of gold. They seemed to hold secrets that Draco wanted to know. Pulling her to his side, they walked up and then back again. Turning, he released her hand and placed one of his low on her back.

As they made another series of turns, this one away from each other, she turned her head, looked over her shoulder at him, and stared deeply into _his_ eyes. He could seriously get lost in her eyes.

The dancers parted again, and now she was promenading with another man. Draco looked down the row of dancers; spied Potter (who looked furious) and he nodded his head and smiled at the man. He longed to say, "yes, yes, Potter, I'm about to steal your best friend. I'm about to cause the biggest scene anyone has dared to make in ten years. Just wait and see." Of course, he didn't say a word. He merely glanced from Potter, back to Granger (turning in a circle in front of them) and then he smiled again at Potter.

He almost wanted to laugh, but he didn't.

Glancing back toward Granger, he saw her smile another perfect smile at the man she had just parted from, before she came to stand two places down from Draco. Even if he had wanted to speak to her, he found that he couldn't. His chest felt tight, his breath short. She was smiling at another bloody fool and Draco realized that he wanted her to smile that way at him. He desired it above all things, even more than he desired his wish for revenge.

It was time for Draco and his partner to come together. They grasped hands and wove through the rest of them. When they parted, his partner went around the outside of one line of dancers and Draco went around the outside of the other line – the line containing Granger. When he passed behind her, he let his finger move lightly across the bare skin of her back even as he said, "You look lovely tonight. Did you realize…"

That was all he had time to say. But she heard him. She craned her neck to look his way. He crossed in front of another woman, moved back toward her, and when he was close enough he finished his thought. Moving around her he whispered, "… that Green is my favourite colour?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Part III**

The pattern of the dance brought them back together. The green silk gown floated around his legs, her scent… citrus and lilac, floated around him, teasing him just as surely as a temptress teases her prey. Tightening his hand over hers, he said, "Shocking, isn't it?"

As they drew apart this time, he let his fingers drift from her hand to her wrist. She turned, passing through two lines of couples before they came back together. Finally she spoke. "What's shocking?"

Brushing around her, his chest to her back, he said, "It's shocking how much I love that dress on you. Even more shocking would be how much I would love you out of it." She gasped. He reveled in that sound. It was the same sound she would undoubtedly make while in the throes of passion. He immediately pictured her underneath him, and then on top of him, hair down to her breasts, eyes closed. He grew hard with the thought.

When they stood opposite each other, other dancers moving in front of them, he noticed for the first time that she was flushed. Was it the exertion of the dance, or his shocking words, which had caused that faint, pink blush to form on her cheeks, her neck, and even her beautiful chest?

Forcing his gaze away from her chest, he moved it back up to her eyes. Waiting for the dance to bring them back together, he continued to stare into her liquid brown eyes. While staring into their endless depths, he suddenly questioned the true reason for dancing with her.

Bitterness and jealousy twisted inside of him and were soon replaced with desire and want. As much as he wanted to exact revenge on his mortal enemy, he found that he wanted to dance with this woman even more. He longed for the chance to touch her again, feel her hand in his. The desire he felt gripped his heart painful, and when they were finally brought back together he took her hand in his, moved to walk around her, and said, "I want you more than I've ever wanted another person in my life."

And he meant it.

His heart was pounding to the rhythm of the music. She took the hand of another man, and as they walked in front of him, he leaned forward and said, "Smile at me."

She didn't acknowledge him this time. So when she passed by again, her shoulder touching his, he said, "Let me know that you feel the same." Tension built low in his belly, pushing up to his chest, making it hard to breathe.

Reaching out as she weaved by him for the last time, he moved his hand down her arm, a light touch. Now they stood side-by-side. Letting the warmth of her body seep into his, he gazed at her with a shift of his eyes. Her chin was held high, her eyes staring straight ahead with a haughty dignity. However, she trembled, showing him that she wasn't immune to his desire.

Might she even share it? Standing beside her, he moved his hand to the small of her back, pressed against her with intent, and he said, "Meet me outside."

Then the music ended. She made her bow to the man on the other side of her, the one in front and finally to him. He picked up her hand, kissed her knuckles deftly, and then keeping her hand in his longer than protocol permitted, he pulled her toward him and said, "I'll be waiting."

Then, quite expectantly, he dropped her hand and walked toward the French doors that led to the balcony outside the ballroom. The cool air hit him like a ton of bricks. He felt like such a liar, a failure, and a fraud. He was truly enraptured with Hermione Granger. How could that be? How could something that had started as a lie turned into something so much more in the space of a few minutes?


	4. Chapter 4

Part IV

Pacing back and forth on the terrace just beyond the door, Draco stopped, turned, and waited patiently for Hermione Granger to follow him. She did not disappoint him. He spied the dancers just inside as she was excusing herself to her next partner, then she walked with purpose toward the doors. He watched as Harry Potter watched his best friend leaving the ballroom. Potter called out to stop her but it was too late – she was already outside, and she was walking his way.

Draco leaned against a stone balustrade and tilted his head upwards. Above him the scattered stars were bright in the night sky. He laughed aloud; sure she could hear him, and not caring in the least. Was this insanity? Was this folly? What started as a quest for revenge swiftly turned to a game of seduction and desire. What started as a lie quickly turned into the most honest truth Draco could ever fathom.

He desired Hermione Granger.

He desired her and so much more.

She walked up to him as he was waiting in the shadows. Pulling her to him by grabbing her wrist, he kept his thumb on her pulse as they stared mutely at each other. He longed to pull her into his arms, and by the way her pulse was beating rapidly beneath his fingers, he would bet his entire fortune that she felt the same.

How long had he wanted this woman? A minute? A day? A lifetime? An eternity was more like it.

"What do you think you're about, Malfoy?" she hissed, pulling her wrist from his hand. He placed his hands around her waist, pulling her to him. She placed her hands upon his chest.

He felt a fire under his coat, on his skin, where her hands were resting idly. Instead of answering, he whispered, "I can't believe you came."

She ignored his observation and said, "That hardly answers my question. Are you mad? Why were you dancing with me? Why make all those remarks about my dress and things? What do you want?"

He laughed. "You ask me what I want. I would think that's crystal clear, Granger dear. I want you – just you." A rush of cold night air floated around them and she shivered. He moved his hands from around her waist up to her arms. He didn't do it to ward off the cold, although he doubted she shivered for that reason either. His reasons were more selfish than that. He merely wanted to hold her. With his hands drifting up and down her bare arms he added, "I thought that much was obvious."

"Nothing's obvious with you, although it should be," she retorted.

He pulled on a stray piece of hair that was resting on her shoulder. "And why is that?" he asked.

"You only danced with me to upset Harry. Every remark you made was for the same reasons, and I won't have it, do you hear?"

He wrapped the same strand of hair around one finger, leaned closer, and said tenderly in her ear, "I hear everything you're saying, with both your mouth and your body. Oh, and by the way, don't pretend that you know me, sweetheart, or what my feelings are. You'd be shocked and surprised by the depths of my feelings for you."

A look of annoyance crossed her face and she pushed him away from her, but remained within the circle of his embrace. "Is this a game to you? Is that it? Do you want to make Harry angry? Do you want to embarrass him on the night of his engagement ball?"

"Ah," he drew out, only to stop. "You give me too much credit. While I started this with Scarhead in mind, it now has nothing to do with him. It's all about you and me. It's about us being alone, on a terrace, with the hushed sounds of music from the ballroom whispering around us." His right index finger traced the neckline of her dress. "This is about you and me and no one else. I won't tell anyone. You won't tell anyone. We only have the stars as our witnesses."

An incredulous look crossed her face, her eyes looking weary and guarded. He was skeptic of his feelings as well, nevertheless, that didn't make it any less true. Giving her his most handsome smile, he moved his finger from the low neckline of her dress up to her face. Tilting her head up a fraction, he leaned close again, his lips a mere breath away from hers, and said, "Don't you feel it, Granger?"

She pushed out of his arms and started back toward the doors without answering.

But he was quicker. He reached for her, grabbed the flowing silk at the back of her dress. The sound of the fabric ripping mingled with the uneven breaths of her fury as she turned to face him. "You did not just rip my dress!"

"I believe I did," he responded glibly. "How does that make you feel?"

"The only thing I feel right now, Malfoy, is an unmistakable urge to hex you!"

"That's passion, darling," he said with a smile.

"No, it's anger, darling," she snapped in outrage, hands on hips. She craned her neck around to look at the back of her dress, which was hanging vicariously off her shoulders, a large rip down the middle. "It's almost ripped in two!"

He smiled. "It seriously was an accident, although I've thought of ripping it off you all evening." When she continued to glare at him, he continued to smile. Her eyes shined bright with anger (and perhaps something more.) "Let's forget your dress for a moment. Why did you follow me out here?"

She pointed her finger at him. "To tell you to stop playing games!"

He bunched a handful of the tattered green silk in one hand, pulled her back to him with the other, so she was back in the confines of his arms. She did nothing to stop him, which gave him hope. With his arms around her he said, "Playing games is the furthest thing on my mind."

With pleading eyes she said, "Stop lying!"

Arms still embracing her, he replied, "Nothing I've said or done tonight has been a lie. That statement surprises me as much as it does you, my dear. Everything I've done tonight has been steeped in truth. There's so much truth hanging off me that I don't even recognize myself. So believe me when I tell you that I'm not lying. I'm not playing games. I'm not seeking revenge. I'm… I'm…" and he stopped.

She placed her hands back on his chest and said in a passionate, dramatic voice, "You're what, Malfoy?"

He could detect an accusation of some sort in her question. She seemed weary and wounded, and that would never do. He needed to remedy that immediately. Therefore, he answered her.  
"I'm going to kiss you, that's what I'm going to do."


	5. Chapter 5

**Part V**

Draco could tell by Hermione's expression that she didn't believe his feelings were sincere. What could he do to convince her that once in his life he wasn't lying?

"Nothing I've said or done tonight has been a lie. That statement surprises me as much as it does you, my dear. Everything I've done tonight has been steeped in truth. There's so much truth hanging off me that I don't even recognize myself. So believe me when I tell you that I'm not lying. I'm not playing games. I'm not seeking revenge. I'm… I'm…"

She placed her hands back on his chest and said in a passionate, dramatic voice, "You're what, Malfoy?"

He could detect an accusation of some sort in her question. She seemed weary and wounded, and that would never do. He needed to remedy that immediately.

Therefore, he answered her. "I'm going to kiss you; that's what I'm going to do."

Before she could stop him he lowered his head to hers, already imagining those sensual full lips under his. He imagined tasting her, smelling her, and drowning in the sound of her even before his lips touched hers. Angling his mouth closer, he was shocked when she reached up to place a hand on his cheek – to stop him? Or did it mean something more? Was the gesture meant to stop the kiss or encourage it? He hoped it was a sign of encouragement. His breath caught in his lungs and his heart fired rapid beats that felt out of time. He hadn't noticed until that moment just how much he craved the genuine, warm touch of a woman like her.

With his lips almost upon her lips, he spoke in a whisper. "If you stop me, you might as well go ahead and kill me, for I'll surely die if my lips aren't upon yours in the next three seconds."

She sucked in her breath as he counted. "One."

"You're mad," she said softly.

"Mad with desire, and getting madder every second. If you don't let me kiss you, Granger, I may burst into flames." His hands tangled in her mass of hair, and then he murmured, "Two."

"Please," she said. Something about her features softened as the plea left her mouth. No longer resisting in his arms, she moved her hands from his chest up to his shoulders, then knitting her hands behind his head.

"No need to beg, sweetness." He smiled, before uttering, "Three."

She moved slightly back in his grip just as his mouth touched hers. Moving back a hair, he said, "I'm serious. I'll expire on the spot if I don't kiss you this second."

Then she said the words he longed to hear. "I wouldn't want you to expire or anything."

That was all the invitation he needed.

He kissed her. If felt like the first time he had every kissed anyone, for it was the first time he had kissed THIS woman, in the moonlight, music floating from the ballroom beyond, moonlight and starlight cascading light down upon them. It was the first time he had kissed someone with this much desire and want. He was almost too overwhelmed to move anything but his lips, but then she leaned against his body and sighed into his mouth.

That was truly his undoing. Something long dormant awoken inside him. It was raw and potent. He wanted this woman with every fiber of his being. He wanted to kiss her now, and later, and all through eternity. He no longer cared for revenge. Any fool who ever said revenge was sweet had never felt desire this intense. Kissing her was sweeter. Beyond sweet. Beyond beautiful. It was the best thing he had ever done. He only cared for the feeling of lush lips under his, a soft feminine body pressed against his hard, aching one, and something else he could not yet name.

Blood pounded in his ears and he tilted her head back further so he could explore more of her mouth. Leaving one hand anchored in her hair, his other hand came to her face, cupping her jaw, to open her wider under his. When his tongue touched hers for the first time he was afraid he would shatter into a million tiny sparks of light.

Help his soul, she was kissing him back – mouth parted, tongue warring with his – he relaxed his grip, no longer afraid she would try to run away. His hand moved from her face to her neck. Every little beat of her pulse went through him light a bolt of lightning, exploding in his body.

His blood burned for her. He continued to kiss her, and heat swirled and coalesced like a fiery volcano, warming every inch of him. He was used to being cold, so at first he didn't recognize the heat that now ran rampant throughout every inch of his being.

She was no longer his enemy's best friend. She was no longer the bane of his existence. She was longing, pure and light. She was a passion, deeper than the core of the earth. She was a love, an emotion he had never imagine in all his years on earth that he would have the pleasure of knowing first hand.

Finally, he lifted his mouth from hers. Feeling uncertain, he smiled at her, kept her in his arms, knowing that the smile he gave her was the most honest smile he had ever bestowed on another person.

And what did she do?

She smiled in return.

The muted notes of a waltz started from the ballroom, beyond the closed doors. Draco had to strain to listen to it, but it grew louder as his breathing returned to normal. With a feeling of possessiveness, and a small amount of propriety, he moved one hand to her waist, and grasped her other hand in his. Then he said, "May I have this dance, Granger?"

She nodded, but then he amended, "No, that's not what I meant to say."

She looked at him perplexed, and he started to move her in time to the music… one, two three… one, two, three. "What did you mean to ask, Malfoy," she asked, her eyes wide with wonder, her lips full and red from a recent and thorough kissing.

Bringing his hand up from her face, while their bodies still moved in time to the music, he brushed his thumb along her bottom lip and said, "What I meant to ask was this: May I have every single dance for the rest of our lives?"

Reaching up for his hand, she stilled their dancing, brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his palm. Holding his hand in hers, she brought it down to her chest, above her heart, and then she stood on tiptoes so she could place a sweet, short kiss upon his lips. "Does that answer your question?" she asked.

"I believe it does," he said with a smile.

And indeed it did.

The End


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